I Write Poetry

A nameless stranger sits on the edge of obscurity, gazing at the strange spaces between the stars and the empty night. Lost pages of twisted rejected stories swirl in the winds around him. The yellow brick road paved with bones to the ghost town of the emerald city. A corrupt and gnarled puppet carved from the charred leavings of wood used to burn witches, Frankenstein's monster created with his heart on his sleeve, a hatter who's lost the smile of his madness, a forgotten lost boy from Neverland seeking the to wear the weight of the world like stone wings, longing to stitch pains and darkness to himself as a shadow, longing to be consumed in oblivion. To one day be the darkness in the sky, holding and embracing the stars. Forever